


what is and what used to be

by Perlenprinz



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Christmas, Conversations, Dead Noah Czerny, Gen, M/M, Ronan Lynch Has Feelings, Ronan Swears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 15:05:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13216323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perlenprinz/pseuds/Perlenprinz
Summary: He did not have specific memories of celebrating Christmas, as he had specific memories of nothing. He could only place a feeling, and that feeling was company. Togetherness. Warmth.But he was alone now.Noah had not been warm since the day that he died.





	what is and what used to be

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the The Raven Cycle: Holiday Gift Exchange for moltengoldichor.tumblr.com ! Happy Holidays and I hope you enjoy this fic!
> 
> This can be read as gen or shippy, however the reader prefers. This is my first upload to AO3 so please be gentle with me and tell me if i did anything wrong! 
> 
> Thanks a lot and have a great 2018!

It was getting more and more difficult for Noah to tell the time.

 

Not that the concept of time still meant a lot to him. It has lost its linearity, instead went in circles ever since _that_ day. How long had it been? It felt like an eternity and yesterday all at the same time. He was alive and then he wasn't, and everything after that fateful moment had been an out of control spiral. Sometimes he bit his own tail, and sometimes he could never find back to himself.

 

Telling an exact date was an impossibility, and so he traded more in stretches of time. Collected hints about the general season from his surroundings. From his friends.

 

The length of blue's skirts and the amount of layers she wore usually was a pretty good indicator for the temperature. Gansey only wore his boat shoes in summer and spring. Aglionby had different uniforms in winter than they had in summer. Ronan's shaved head was prone to the cold, so he wore hats in Winter. In Summer, Adam would sometimes have a mild sunburn on his cheeks and nose.

 

But by far the most helpful indicator were seasonal decorations around town. The pastel toned eggs in front of stores and the cartoon bunnies placed in patches of grass that clearly spoke of Easter.

For Halloween it was pumpkins with scary faces carved into their hard shell, skeletons hanging off of buildings and trees, bats and rats and black cats and - Noah couldn't help but be mildly offended at the oversimplification of the concept - bedsheet ghosts all throughout Henrietta.

 

Now, as he looked outside the window, he saw a fine layer of snow on Henrietta. Fir trees  were decorated with fairly lights and tinsel and gaudy big baubles. Mistletoes hung over doorways , reindeers stood on rooftops and different depictions of Santa were pretty much everywhere.

 

_Christmas._

 

It was Christmas.

 

Noah had been looking out of the Windows of Monmouth for a while, but now turned back around and looked, instead, around the inside of this familiar place.

 

The seasonal decorations hadn't quite made it into the living area of Monmouth Manufacturing, but there _was_ a tree. It was small and crooked and flawed, and that was probably why Gansey had wanted it. Perfection rarely struck a chord with him.  So this tree fit right in with the dated aesthetic of the room.

 

It had been decorated with lights and a bunch of mismatched baubles that faintly bent the thin branches  under their weight.

 

Noah crouched to look at it more closely. The sight stirred something in him, but he was unable to place what exactly it was.

 

He did not have specific memories of celebrating Christmas, as he had specific memories of nothing. He could only place a feeling, and that feeling was company. Togetherness. Warmth.

 

But he was alone now.

Noah had not been warm since the day that he died.

 

Of course no one would be here for Christmas. Gansey and Ronan both had certainly left to celebrate with family, and with them gone there would be no reason for Adam or Blue to show up.

 

Noah stood in the vast main room, the living room, Gansey's room, filled to the brim with his character and elements of the search for Glendower.  

He felt incredibly dwarfed by it all. There was so much _life_ in this room. Gansey's entire identity reflected off these high, high walls.

 

Gansey was so present in this space even when he wasn't physically there.

And Noah barely managed to hold any sort of presence at all.

 

 

The silence of the room was promptly disrupted by a key turning in the lock. Noah whirled around to face the door, eyes wide.

 

He had not expected for anyone to come.

 

The door pushed open a short moment later, and through the door came Ronan, a fine spray of snowflakes very visible on his black clothing.

 

"Ronan..." Noah said, shock mixing with a relieved smile.

_He wasn't alone._ "You're here?"

 

Ronan, looking surprised to see Noah, but not unpleasantly so, shrugged off his leather jacket and chucked it into the general direction of his room. It landed in a crumpled heap in front of his door, one sleeve caught on the doorhandle shaping it into a grotesque statue.

 

"It's Sunday. Where else would I be?"

 

Even if Noah could no longer make sense of his own time, he did understand the time of others. He knew that, every Sunday, without fail, the Lynch Brothers would go to church together. He knew that it was the only time all three of them would ever be somewhat peacefully together. And he also understood, even though it was unspoken, and Ronan would fight anyone who would _dare_ say it, that this time was incredibly important to Ronan.

 

With grand movements, Ronan removed the scarf from around his neck and plopped it onto the jacket-pile, together with his beanie.

 

"Also... where would I go?" He added in a low voice, running a flat hand over his shaved head. " _Home?_ "

The bitterness in his voice sent an unpleasant chill down Noah's back. His own voice sounded meek and tiny when he replied, "I thought... maybe you were going to be with Gansey."

 

Ronan chuckled, mildly. He didn't seem to have a lot of humor in him, and Noah could absolutely see why. A celebration of family like this must really drive home what he had lost.

It certainly did for Noah, and he couldn't even remember his family.

"Yeah, Gansey also thought I was going to be with him." Ronan said, while making his way to the kitchen, fetching something from the fridge. "He only offered about fifty-seven times that I should come along with him."  

 

Emerging from the kitchen again, Ronan carried over two bottles of beer and proceeded to sit down in front of the Christmas tree. Noah looked around for a moment, at the couch, at Gansey's bed, but figured that it probably didn't matter. He sat down on the floor next to Ronan.

 

"But Christmas with the Ganseys is a suit-and-tie event." Ronan snarled as he opened one of the bottles. The other he passed over to Noah. Both of them were very aware that Noah couldn't drink it, but Noah appreciated the symbol. He held the bottle in both hands, toying lightly with the label on it.

Ronan clinked his bottle to Noah's and took a big gulp of his beer.

"Sitting pretty around the fireplace and sipping wine and champagne and having civil conversations about politics and the state of the world. Fuck that! There's nothing _Christmas_ about that."

 

Noah trained an inquisitive gaze on Ronan. The fairy lights in the Christmas tree reflected off the big baubles, and onto his dark eyes. They seemed to be shining.

"What is Christmas like for you then?"

 

Ronan stared into the tree for a moment, wistfully. Not like he's trying to remember but like he is incapable of ever forgetting, even for a single moment.

 

"Very relaxed. Dad would be there every single time and we'd all sit around in Pajamas all day. Even Declan. Can you imagine him outside of a suit?" Ronan, his eyes having gotten marginally darker, took another sip of his beer. Noah often wondered how the relationship between the two elder Lynch brothers had been before tragedy struck.  Maybe it used to be more peaceful.

Maybe there used to be better times.

"We'd read, or watch movies, or play stupid board games. We'd order in junk food so no one had to cook. I guess Dad could have dreamed us something but..." Ronan shrugged lightly, still looking into the tree as if it held the key to getting all of this back. "... tradition, whatever."

He sighed silently, finally tearing his gaze away from the tree.

Instead he looked at the floor.

 

"It was domestic and familiar and unglamorous and it was _fucking perfect_."

 

Ronan sounded so incredibly hurt. Noah looked at him with deep sympathy; he understood now, much more intensely, why the Ganseys' way of celebrating Christmas so strongly disagreed with him.

Why he'd prefer to spend Christmas alone over putting up with this.

 

Noah understood all this, but he didn't have the words to express his sympathy to Ronan.

So all he could offer was his silence. He thought about reaching out to Ronan, to lay a hand, gently, onto his, but he was simultaneously afraid that it would be too much or - should the substantiality of his form fail - too little.

He did not touch Ronan.

 

They fell into a moment of silence, Ronan drinking and Noah starting to slowly peel the label off of the beer bottle to give his fingers something to do.

 

"What was it like for you?" Ronan asked eventually, his voice recovered and mostly back to how it normally sounded.

 

Noah thought on this for a long while. He wanted nothing more than to remember, but he kept drawing a blank. Whenever he tried to remember the Christmases he had experienced, all he saw were flashes of a decorated tree, a lit fireplace, smiling faces the features of which he did not remember. Family. Mother, Father. Sister? He wasn't sure anymore and it was agonizing. Shouldn't he remember his own family at least?

 

He didn't.

 

"I think...." he finally started, voice uncertain and brittle. "...everyone used to be there."

 

That's all he could say, for that was all he remembered, and certainly, for a moment, they were envious of each other. Of the ability to remember and the ability to forget.

 

"Oh!" Noah yelled after a moment, the grin on his pale face a rare occasion. It seemed to flush his cheeks lightly, even though Ronan was infinitely aware that it must be a trick of the light, or his imagination altogether. That it wasn't possible.

"I think I remember something!"

Noah's eyes seemed to shine.

That wasn't possible either.

With this grin that touched part of Ronan he had deemed untouchable, Noah yelled: "I got a Skateboard!"

 

Only after seeing Ronan's expression crumple in on itself did Noah realize what the implications of this were. That this Skateboard, a present made to him out of love and compassion from those he most cherished, had been used to murder him.

 

Noah's smile vanished as quickly as it had come.

 

Silence returned between them, uncomfortable and pressing.

It wasn't _fair_.

 

"I got you something." Ronan said suddenly and pushed to his feet. "For Christmas. _This_ Christmas."

 

Noah - mood immediately lifted, although only marginally - looked, first questioningly, then curiously after Ronan as he went over to his room, picking up his jacket and scarf and hat and tossing it somewhere inside of his room after he opened the door. For some moments he disappeared into the usually forbidden area. Noah tried to get a peak at what was inside, but saw only a disarray of clothes and furniture and objects.

He wondered how many of them were dreamt.

He wondered how many of them _weren't_ dreamt.

 

After some noisy rummaging, Ronan exited the room again, holding a white cardboard box in one hand. He pulled the door closed behind him, shielding Noah's gaze from the things inside.

Both of them knew this was an exercise in futility. Noah, who no longer adhered to a corporeal form, could probably manifest in Ronan's room with very little effort and look around all he wanted. But it was based on their mutual trust and respect that Noah never would and Ronan knew for sure that Noah never would. And so the closed door sealed this unspoken agreement.

 

Ronan sat back down next to Noah and handed him the box.

 

Noah held it with reverence; took note of how the box felt in his insubstantial hands. It had some weight to it and something seemed to slide around inside of it.

 

Noah looked up to Ronan, fair brows knitted with concern.

 

"I have nothing for you."

 

Ronan scoffed; a short, low chuckle. "Yeah, like you could just go into a store and buy something. Don't be ridiculous."

A moment of silence stretched out between them. Ronan took a swig of his beer.

An ancient clock on the wall - Gansey must have brought it from traveling - sounded off the seconds passing between them with little ticks.

 

Then, Ronan's voice resounded again. It was quieter this time, lower.

Resonating in this tall room.

 

" _You're here._ "

 

Noah looked up from the box.  Big, dark eyes looked into Ronan's light blue ones.

If Noah's heart still served any sort of function, it might have been beating a little quicker.

If there was blood in his veins, it might have shot to his head, painting his cheeks a soft pink.

 

Ronan, despite the heavy atmosphere, smiled lightly at Noah.

 

"That's enough."

 

Noah smiled, too.

 

"Now open the stupid thing", Ronan nodded towards the box with a chuckle. He obviously hadn't bothered wrapping it, and Noah thought that was for the best. He couldn't imagine someone as rough as Ronan, who showed his affection by tossing his ghost friend out of the window, to successfully wrestle with something as fickle and as easily destroyed like gift paper and ribbons.

 

Noah gingerly placed the box on his lap and slowly opened it. His dark eyes looked inside with fascination as he slowly pulled out the object.

 

His eyes lit up; the smile on his face became brighter and his eyes held the same seeming shine as they had in the Dollar City.

 

" _Glitter_!"

 

He held the snowglobe with the palmtree, the sunbathing tourists, the " _It's always Christmas somewhere_ " sign with the same fascination as he had before. With a slight shake, all of them got covered in glitter in lieu of fake snow.

Noah looked beyond mesmerized by the spectacle inside this tiny, contained universe.

 

"Is it the one from back then?" He asked, eyes wide.

 

"Idiot.", Ronan retorted, sly grin on his lips, "You smashed that one. I dreamt this for you."

 

Noah looked at the snow globe for a moment longer, before lifting his gaze to Ronan with a smile.

He thinks about hugging him, thinks how, moments earlier, he hadn't even dared to touch him.

He thinks about all that once made him alive slowly running out and leaving him.

 

And he figures: now or never.

 

So Noah leaned forward and flung his arms around Ronan's neck.

 

Hugging Noah is an incredibly cold and draining thing. Goosebumps immediately rose on Ronan's skin and a shudder goes through his entire body. But he couldn't be happier for the substantiality he feels and  wraps his arms around Noah to hold him close, for a little bit.

 

He is icy, and he feels dead, and every alarm inside of Ronan is ringing, _wrong, wrong, wrong_.

But Noah is here, Noah is present and that is all that matters to Ronan in that instant.

 

And so for a moment all they do is hold each other, despite the discomfort and the cold.

 

It's Noah who pulls back first, smiling brightly.

"Thank you!" he says, voice chiming and soft.

For the snowglobe.

For the hug.

For the first Christmas since his death that he didn't have to spend alone.

 

Ronan, still not a man of big words, just replied a chuckled " _Sure_ ", before getting up.

 

"I'm getting another beer. You want one?"

Noah lifted his closed beer with a sheepish grin. "I'm still working on that one, thanks."

 

 

When Ronan returned from the kitchen, Noah was gone.

 

 

He looked at the empty spot next to the Christmas tree for a moment, thinking if maybe he had just moved somewhere else. But Ronan was aware that Noah's presence had become more and more erratic, and so having these couple of undisturbed minutes with him had already been incredibly fortunate.

 

Ronan picked up the snowglobe with a sigh and brought it to Noah's room.  He placed it gingerly on the nightstand; now the only piece of decoration and personality in his pristine and sterile room.

It was _something_ , at least. Something small to await Noah's next return.

 

He leaves Noah's room, shuts the door behind himself and goes back to the tree. Noah's unopened beer still stands there. It is no warmer through the touch of his hands, but good chunks of the label are missing.

 

Ronan lazily clinked his own bottle against it.

" _Merry Christmas_ ", he says, to the spot where Noah had been sitting; to the memory of him. To the emptiness of Monmouth. To Gansey, who was in every single object in this room despite of his absence.

 

And looking at the little, crooked, imperfect tree, Ronan finished his beer in solitude.


End file.
